


Love Games

by dracoqueen22



Series: Number One Crush [10]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One)
Genre: BDSM themes, Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Kink Collection, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:51:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6811906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of shorter ficlets featuring Ratchet/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker in various smutty scenarios.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Off-Script

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet was the one supposed to be begging, but Sunstreaker couldn't wait any longer.

Sunstreaker leaned against Sideswipe’s back, watching over his twin’s shoulder, completely enraptured. In full Dom mode, Sideswipe was a sight to behold. It was almost like he became another person, and watching him lead Ratchet around was making Sunstreaker the hottest he’d been in quite a while. 

It was all he could do not to throw his brother across the nearest berth, or take advantage of Ratchet’s display and send the medic into a screaming overload. 

But that wasn’t the game today. Sunstreaker was supposed to watch. Sideswipe was supposed to lead. And Ratchet? He was supposed to obey. 

“What do you think, Sunny? Do you think he looks like he wants it?” Sideswipe asked as he looked down at Ratchet, currently dripping to the floor. 

Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled and he had to reboot his vocalizer twice before he could convince himself to speak without static. “I could use a little more convincing,” he said, thanking Primus that Sideswipe had given him a script. Right now, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to frag Ratchet or take Ratchet’s place. 

Sideswipe was fragging hot like this. 

“Me too, bro,” Sideswipe said and he tilted his helm. He crossed his arms. “I don’t believe it, Ratch,” he said. He leaned forward and Sunstreaker went with him. “I think you need to beg for it.” 

Which would be a challenge, Sunstreaker thought, considering that Sideswipe had gagged him. 

But Ratchet, apparently, was better at this game than both of them. Because he leaned back, braced his weight with one hand, and used the other to touch himself. But it wasn’t just cursory touches, no. He lingered. He stroked his spike, he traced the banded design. He played with his anterior node. He slid one finger into his valve and then a second and then a third, until all three of his fingers were coated in lubricant. 

Sunstreaker’s mouth went dry. His hands clutched on Sideswipe’s shoulders, strong enough to dent metal. He heard something whining and realized it was him, he was the one whimpering. 

A shudder rippled through Sideswipe. But he was solid. Even when Ratchet withdrew his fingers, painted his spike in his own lubricant, and then proceeded to drag his sticky-damp fingers over his abdominal armor and then his chassis. 

Sunstreaker moaned and pressed his helm against his twin’s, the last of his control all that kept him from humping Sideswipe’s hip. “Isn’t that enough?” he tried to whisper, but it came out too loud. “That counts, right?” 

He was off-script but Sunstreaker didn’t care. 

Sideswipe laughed, or tried to, but it came out choked. “I should have known he’d be the one making you beg instead,” he said with a wry grin. 

Ratchet’s optics sparkled devilishly. 

They were both going to be the death of him, Sunstreaker lamented. But what a way to go.


	2. In the Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet never thought he’d see the day where he’d knock out both Twins with one kink.

Well.

Ratchet never thought he’d see the day where he’d knock out both Twins with one kink. They each had their quirks, their individual preferences.

But apparently, none of that mattered once sparkplay got involved. Good to know.

Now he had two unconscious warriors strapped and tangled together. Repeated scans reassured Ratchet they were just going through a reboot. That still left him with the task of shifting them around while they were unconscious weight.

Good thing he was a medic.

Shaking his head, Ratchet got to work. He left their limbs tangled for now, chestplates pressed close. Post-overload, their armor had shut, but their fields told him they were still connected.

It had to be a Twin thing.

Ratchet removed the bonds, the spreaders, and the intricate knots. They slumped together, arms wrapped around each other. Sunstreaker’s head rested on Sideswipe’s shoulder.

Like this, they were awfully adorable. Quiet, too.

Ratchet snorted a laugh. It was probably the only time they were quiet.

He retrieved a blanket and wrapped it around his two lovers. He gathered energon, coolant, and cleaning supplies. He then puttered around his quarters, waiting for them to wake.

Sunstreaker was the first to stir with a quiet murmur as he nuzzled Sideswipe’s shoulder.

“Welcome back to the land of the conscious,” Ratchet said as he reached out with his field. “Session’s over. How’re you feeling?”

“Tired.” Sunstreaker nudged his brother, still moving as though half asleep. “Wake up, lazy aft.”

“Don’t wanna,” Sideswipe whined, but there was little effort behind it. “Just gonna stay here.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “You’re such a brat.”

“Mmm. But you love me.”

Sunstreaker’s gaze sought out Ratchet’s as if to say, ‘See what I have to put up with?’

Yeah. They were both fine.

Now was Ratchet’s chance to spoil them. It was the only time they really let him get away with it.

He grinned and joined them on the berth.


	3. Anything He Can Do...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe makes a claim, and the challenge is laid. Sunstreaker and Ratchet are there for the show.

"I could do that," Sideswipe said.   
  
Ratchet's orbital ridges drifted toward his chevron. "Can you now?" he asked and made a pointed look toward the screen, where the tiny female human flipped and danced across the mat in a way that seemed to defy the law of physics.   
  
"Can't be too hard," Sideswipe replied, squaring his shoulders. "I'm pretty flexible, you know."   
  
Sunstreaker gave his brother a critical look, optics narrowed. "Not that flexible." He squinted, lips curving downward. "Though Jazz could probably do it."   
  
Sideswipe's hackles raised, as Ratchet knew they would. A challenge had been laid. How dare Sunstreaker suggest Jazz could so something Sideswipe couldn’t? It was blasphemy.

"You saying I can't do something that Jazz can?" Sideswipe demanded, predictably, and poked a thumb toward his chassis. "I can do anything he can do. And better."   
  
Ratchet snorted a laugh. "All right, hotshot. Wanna bet? Let's get you and Jazz to the training room and see what happens on that mat."   
  
He expected Sideswipe's enthusiasm to wilt, but then, backing down from a challenge was never one of Sideswipe's better traits.  
  
Sideswipe planted his hands on his hips. "Deal." 

Well then. Far be it from Ratchet to deny Sideswipe the opportunity to make a fool of himself. He pinged Jazz, passed on the challenge, and waited for the inevitable, gleeful acceptance.   
  
Sunstreaker's mouth pulled into a deeper frown. "You're going to fall on your aft, I hope you know that."   
  
"It hurts that you have no faith in me," Sideswipe said with mock disappointment. "You're supposed to be my brother, my twin, spark of my spark. Where is the loyalty, I ask? Where is the trust?" 

Ratchet’s comm pinged. Jazz was more than willing, he was on his way to the training room now. _Perfect._  
  
Ratchet made a show of sighing and rubbing his chevron. "All right, drama queen. Let's get this over with then." He hauled himself off the couch, briefly bemoaning the loss of his nice, quiet day of cuddling.   
  
Sideswipe blinked. "Wait. Now?"   
  
"What better time? Come on, Sunny."   
  
Sunstreaker got up, too. "This ought to be interesting," he muttered.   
  
Ratchet chuckled quietly. Interesting? You bet. He couldn't remember a time being with the Twins was anything but. 

“Fine,” Sideswipe declared with a put-upon mantle of determination. “Now I can show you both how wrong you are.”

He strutted past them with his head held high.

“Gonna fall on his aft,” Sunstreaker murmured. “Crack his cranial case wide open.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ratchet sighed, and clapped Sunstreaker on the shoulder. “Make sure you take plenty of vids.”

Sunstreaker smirked. “I always do.”

  
  



	4. Body Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet carried a lifetime on his frame, and his Twins loved every minute of him.

Ratchet carried a lifetime on his frame: weldlines and protoform deep scratches and mismatched armor plates and empty spaces where extra components had been yanked free for a patient in desperate need. 

He was sturdy and solid, harsh angles and deep valleys, and he smelled of history, of pistons and gears and pulleys and levers, and faint whiffs of a coolant no one used anymore. 

He was inflexible, but all the more stable for it, and he bent where it counted. His hands were nimble, each finger a tool into itself, the paint over the tips often worn away to the silver protoform. 

Sunstreaker loved to lave his glossa over those careworn fingers, sucking them one by one into his mouth, tasting the evidence of a hard lifetime’s work. Ratchet’s hands were impeccably clean, for all that they were scratched and raw, and they tasted of his gentleness. 

Sideswipe was partial to dragging his lips over Ratchet’s chevron, insensitive until he was already on the way to overload, his frame writhing as charge lit up from his substructure. At that point, the sensor laden arch warmed and hummed beneath Sideswipe’s lips. 

He loved the way it framed Ratchet’s face, dermal metal creasing around the edges where age had stripped away some of the elasticity. Where dermal nanites were slow to repair and replace, and lines streaked across Ratchet’s face. 

He was tired, and it showed. 

‘Don’t know why you bother with an old mech like me,’ he was prone to grumble from time to time, when he tried to leverage himself off the berth and he creaked and rattled like a tin can of spare parts. 

‘Don’t know why you bother with a pair of troublemakers like us,’ Sideswipe liked to say with a smirk. 

‘You’re you,’ Sunstreaker always said, like it explained everything, and maybe it did. Maybe it was enough. 

Because one thing led to another, led to an ancient ambulance falling back to the berth as he was pounced by a pair of eager Lamborghinis who couldn’t wait to get their hands and mouths over and into every age-worn plate, and rough seam. 

And Ratchet sighed into their hungry kisses, his spark throbbing like a youngling’s, and thought that this was the key right there. 

_This was enough._


	5. Haven't Had Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe’s self-control is occasionally lacking. Simply being told to keep quiet is not enough.

As it turns out, Sideswipe’s self-control is occasionally lacking. Simply being told to keep quiet is not enough.

Thus the gag.

Sunstreaker has to admit, there’s something painfully erotic about the sounds Sideswipe makes around the gag. The thick rubbery ball – complete with straps around his head – is just wide enough to stretch Sides’ lips without hurting him. But not so large that it stops the lubricant from drooling free, making a mess. 

After the first attempt with the gag, Sunstreaker even learns to narrow the bond. That way Sideswipe’s incessant chatter can’t come across it and distract him. 

Very nice indeed. There is only one problem. 

“How’m I supposed to use his mouth with a gag in it?” Sunstreaker grumps. 

His spike throbs as he rubs the tip over Sideswipe’s cheek, leaving a smear of pre-fluid behind. 

Ratchet laughs, never losing rhythm as he strokes in and out of Sideswipe’s valve. Slow and steady, sure to drive Sides wild with need, but keep him hanging on the edge. The perfect punishment for such an irreverent brat. 

“Rub off on his face. He’ll like that,” Ratchet says. 

Yeah, he would. The deviant. Sunstreaker loves his twin, but honestly, there’s something twisted in Sideswipe’s processor. Like look at him, moaning, and drooling around the gag, and pawing at Sunstreaker as though he likes Ratchet’s idea. Because he does. 

“Not the same,” Sunstreaker says but he still grips his spike with one hand and Sides’ head with the other. Not that he needs to. 

Sideswipe is eagerly rubbing his cheek over Sunstreaker’s spike, smearing more pre-fluid around. He’s making muffled noises, his optics bright and hungry. 

Ratchet picks up the pace, each thrust now shoving Sideswipe harder against Sunstreaker’s spike. 

“You take that gag off and I’ll put it on you next,” Ratchet threatens with a growl, his hands making Sideswipe’s armor creak where he grips Sides by the hips. 

Sunstreaker shivers. His spike throbs. He fragging loves it when Ratchet uses that tone.

Sides does, too. He moans. His optics flicker. His hips push back against Ratchet’s thrusts, not that he can get much leverage given that his feet are dangling over the side of the berth. 

Ratchet smirks. “Or maybe that’s not much of a punishment. Is it, Sunstreaker?” 

Sunstreaker licks his lips. He thrusts against Sideswipe’s face, leaving a streak of pre-fluid dangerously close to one optic. He quickly alters his angle, the tip of his spike catching against the strap of the gag. 

“Keep talking,” Sunstreaker urges. 

Ratchet grins and holds his gaze. He thrusts deep into Sideswipe and circles his hips, riding hard on Sides’ ceiling node. 

Sideswipe whimpers. His optics roll back. His hands claw at Sunstreaker’s thighs.

“You’re next,” Ratchet promises in a low, deep purr that seems to vibrate straight to Sunstreaker’s spark and set his lines ablaze. 

He chokes back a moan and overloads between one beat and the next, spilling his load all over Sideswipe’s face. 

Sideswipe moans and Ratchet laughs softly, the clang-clang-clang of him thrusting earnest now echoing around Sunstreaker as he pants and tries to find coherency somewhere behind the waves of ecstasy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of ficlets based in the Number One Crush Universe. It's marked as completed, but I will add to it in the future as I'm inspired.


End file.
